The Tale of the UFF Killer
by UnstableUniverses
Summary: The crew must stop the UFF Killer before he can kill again. But when emotions get involved, everyone falls into danger. Written for the Unstable Universes Podcast.


**Episode II**

Criminal Minds

Bigfoot

Corporal Punishment

I sipped my coffee as the doors to the BAU open in front of me. I duck to pass through the doorway unscathed, and when I look back up Derek Morgan is standing in front of me.

His big brown eyes, usually so fierce and stoic, were full of sadness. Maybe even a hint of fear. I knew things hadn't ended well between us, but we did our best to stay professional at work. This was different somehow.

"Hey, Big," Morgan said softly, he reached out and placed a hand on my hairy forearm. "We got assigned a new case. And, well, I just wanted to let you know before you were in front of everybody. It's… it's him."

My hand opened and the cup of coffee fell to the floor. Derek didn't have to say anything more, I knew what he meant. It was _him_. My mind raced, but my body froze. I couldn't move a muscle, couldn't react. _He_ was back.

Hot coffee splashed my bare feet, bringing me back to reality. "Shit…" I mutter, looking down at the mess.

"It's okay, Big. You get cleaned up, I can make you a fresh coffee before the briefing," Morgan reassured.

"O-okay, thanks, Derek." I say as I pull back from his hand, still gently touching my forearm. I walk slowly to the washroom, never looking back up, too focused on my feet. Large, incredibly so, and covered in thick hair, now wet and matted by the hot, black coffee.

I washed my feet quickly, they'd still be a little sticky from the sugar, but I wasn't going to be late for the briefing. I sat in between JJ and Morgan, who handed me a steaming mug.

"Just how you like it," he promised. I murmur a thank you and turn my attention to the screens, and Hotch standing at the head of the table.

"The UFF Killer has resurfaced," Hotch states, "The body of 26-year-old Andrea Walker has been found just east of Seattle." He brings up a picture of the face of the found body and her driver's license photo. "Sticking to his typical MO, she has been strangled, and her feet removed post mortem with men's feet sewn on in their place."

I flinch as he shows the picture of the corpse's feet. The burns on my own seemed to flare up the longer I stared.

"As we determined in our previous investigation of the UFF Killer, he is Millard C. Cole" pipes up Reid. "White male, mid-thirties, loner type. The most extreme foot fetish we've ever encountered, hence the name: UFF, Ultimate Foot Fetishist. He fled to Argentina last time we got close to him, and since there's no extradition treaty, we lost him. Now, he's clearly back and with a vengeance."

At the sound of his name, I clench my hands, digging my finger nails into the arms of my custom-made large office chair. Morgan reaches over and smooths the bristling fur on my arm. "We'll get him this time, I swear."

"Wheels up in forty-five minutes. We need to get to Seattle before Cole can take another victim." Hotch says, and the meeting disbands.

The Washington to Washington flight was overwhelmingly slow. I couldn't help but stare at my massive feet and think of Millard C. Cole, the UFF Killer. My whole life changed because of Cole. I was a ranger for Mount Rainer National Park at the time, and I found his first victim. Or two victims, I should say, since the implanted feet were always from a male, whereas the body was always female. I worked closely with the BAU to help with the case, and that's when I met Morgan. He was strong, his face like solid stone, unable to show emotion, but as we got closer, I learned to read those beautiful brown eyes of his. He was the one that suggested I move to DC and join the BAU, and I was so head over heels I couldn't resist. That's all over now, though. Morgan and I have moved on, or at least, that's what I tell myself.

We finally touched down, and headed straight to the Seattle police department. The BAU team familiarized themselves with all of the gruesome details before we decided to head out and canvas the area for additional information.

The police tape was still up when we arrived, the body covered by a white sheet. It was positioned as if it were sitting on a fallen trunk and leaning against a tree just off the hiking trail.

"Clearly the murders occurred elsewhere and the body was placed here," remarked Reid as he knelt to peer under the sheet.

"Must have been close," Prentiss theorized, "He's not exactly a bodybuilder, and there's no tracks from a four-wheeler or car."

"We'll sweep the area in a half mile radius," ordered Hotch, splitting us all into pairs. I, of course, was put with Morgan. Whether it was an intentional move or not by Hotch, I'll never know, but the team definitely noticed the awkwardness between the two of us the past month, even though we had never let them know about the relationship.

Morgan and I headed east. The forest was thick and muggy, but I grew up in these parts, so I knew the terrain. Morgan struggled to keep up with me, but I'd rather keep a little bit of distance between us. I couldn't bear another conversation with him. We searched in silence for hours, past the sunset before Hotch finally called us all back in for the night.

We checked in to our modest hotel, but I knew I couldn't sit still, let alone sleep. So I went out for a walk. My kind were rare, but not unheard of, so while I got some stares as I walked the streets of Seattle, no one screamed and ran like they used to. I was an oddity to them, but not a monster.

Nearly an hour after I had set out, my phone began to buzz. _Probably just Hotch telling me to come back and get some sleep_ , I thought, but when I checked, it was Morgan calling. I sighed, and considered not picking up, but if it was work related, I couldn't just disappear.

"What's up, Morgan?" I ask, intentionally cold.

"I'm afraid this isn't Morgan, my delicious sasquatch," a high pitched, excited voice replied. "If you want him back, you'll bring those delectable toes to the place you found my first creation. If you want him with his original feet, bring no one else, none will satisfy me quite like you could."

The phone went dead before I could answer or try to track the call. Faced with losing not only a teammate, but a lover, even if that was behind us, I had no choice but to comply with Cole's demands. I went alone.

The scene of Cole's first crime was deep in Mount Rainier National Park, on the banks of the White River. The first victim had been posed to look as though she was sunbathing, despite the thick forest blocking the sun's rays.

When I finally arrived, I saw Morgan lying in the exact same spot as the first victim. His hands were tied behind his back, lying on top of them. His shoes and socks had been removed, leaving his bare feet submerged in the rushing river.

"Morgan!" I shouted, running toward him, my gun drawn.

"Big, no! Stay back! He's – " Morgan was cut off as I was tackled from my flank.

The man was much smaller than my eight foot stature, but his speed and my surprise gave him the advantage. He knocked me clean off my feet. I landed hard on my face, with him straddling my back. My gun went flying and landed in the river, swept away by the current.

"You rat bastard!" I gasp, trying to get air back into my lungs.

Cole leaned down to whisper in my ear, "You know, I've never seen one of _you_ in real life before. My god, you're magnificent." He moved back, clearly going to inspect my large feet.

I bucked and contorted myself, throwing him to the rocky banks next to me, and I lunged on top of him. "This is over!" I roared.

Cole giggled with glee. He wasn't afraid of me. I'd have to teach him a lesson in respect.

"Wipe that grin off your damn face, you think this is a game?" I slapped him across the face, leaving a massive red mark across his right side. "You've killed and you've desecrated innocent people, all just to get off? You'll rot in hell."  
I pick him up by the collar and drag him to a large rock nearby. I sit down and lay his stomach across my knees. With a quick tug, I rip his khaki pants from his body and toss them in the river. "One for each victim," I growl.

"David Walsh. Madeline Brown. Bill Bates. Karen Vazquez." I narrate to him the lives he has destroyed, each name punctuated with a progressively hard slap to his rear end. By the third name his ass was red as the blood of his dead. By the sixth, he had shed his own blood. The list was longer than any FBI agent would hope a serial killer's list of victims could be. I had spanked him raw by the time I was only halfway done, but I continued.

Once I was done, I threw him off my lap to the ground. " _But not Derek Morgan_." I screamed. Millard Cole struggled to stand after the beating he had received, instead taking to crawling away from my wrath. He made it barely four feet before he collapsed.

I stood and shook my spanking hand, "Damn, that smarts," I mutter, approaching Morgan. I untied him and helped him to his feet.

"That… That was intense, Big," Morgan stammered, in awe. But then his face changed, "Think you've got any left for me?"

THE END


End file.
